Moving on
by Mary Kleinsmith
Summary: Nobody knows the real reason Jack accepted the promotion. Angst, h/c, drama, and a bit of S/J UST. Note: This story was written awhile ago and posted on my web site. I'm only not getting to post it here.


**Moving On**

**By Mary Kleinsmith**

**Category: Drama, angst, h/c, missing scene **

**Archive: Samandjack, heliopolis, anywhere else just let me know **

**Spoilers: Everything up to Season 8, but especially New Order through Affinity **

**Rating: PG **

**Content Warning: A very faint S/J **

**Summary: Nobody knows the real reason Jack accepted the promotion **

**Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and all the characters belong to a bunch of other guys, not me. No copyright infringement is intended, and I made no money on this. **

**Author's Notes: I had this idea stuck in my head for awhile now and just had to write it. After I was done and read it through, I realized that this is open-ended enough that it could become a series, but I only plan to do so if I'm asked for it. So be sure to let me know if you want more in this storyline. **

**Feedback: Yes, please, may I have more feedback? **

I know that everybody thinks taking this position was an honor I couldn't turn down. Promotion to Brigadier General, command of the SGC, the authority to do "whatever I want" . . . well, *almost* whatever I want, anyway. Yet with all the honor and privilege, I've realized that I'm not happy. It's pretty obvious to those around me, although they were with me, helping me to decide whether to take the appointment in the first place. They know me so well, but not well enough to have seen this coming.

I wish I could say it was for some great, noble purpose, but the reality is far removed from heroism.

I always thought it would be my knees that forced me out of the field, or out of the Air Force entirely. Little did I expect the news with which the new base physician confronted me all those months ago. It seems like yesterday, but then, that'll happen when you spend twelve weeks in the deep freeze . . .

_Five months earlier:_

"Colonel, you didn't really think you could put off your annual physical forever, did you?" she asked as she joined me in the tiny cubicle. She eyed my uniform, which I was hesitant to shed until absolutely required. She was practically a stranger to me, having been on the base such a short time since Fraiser's untimely death.

"I was sorta hoping," I replied with a half- grin. I knew that Doc Fraiser had been letting me slide - any other physician would probably have grounded me for bad knees, or any one of a zillion other things I'd done to my body in my half century, long before now. This new doctor doesn't know me. She has no loyalty to me, the team, or the SGC - she's a military physician and that's all.

"Would you please remove your clothes, Colonel O'Neill," she said seriously. I knew right away that this woman wouldn't be taking Janet's place in our circle of friends. She wasn't friendly, remaining all business. No big deal, but I knew I wouldn't be able to joke her out of this.

I stripped.

Her examination was thorough, including some things that Fraiser had never done, and when she was finished, she sat down across from me with a serious expression on her face.

"Colonel O'Neill, I read your rather extensive medical history when I first arrived at the SGC, and to say I was shocked would be an understatement. Simply put, I'm amazed you can still function as well as you do when you take into account the bodily damage you've sustained over the years." This wasn't sounding good, but I just nodded, waiting for her to continue. "Is it safe to assume you've had a considerable history in handling explosives?"

The question took me aback, and I had to think for a moment. "I've had training and experience in the handling of a variety of them, of course. You don't get to this level in the military and survive, especially after being in combat, without having used them." I looked at her, but her expression gave nothing away as she reached for her note pad.

"I want you to see a specialist, Colonel. I can recommend somebody at the university hospital if you want to keep this from the military for the time being."

"But, my knees . . ."

"This isn't about your knees, although that may have to be addressed at some future time. No, Colonel, my limited examination is showing signs of some residual hearing loss in both ears, possibly from your exposure to the repeated loud noises caused by explosives. We need to evaluate the level of disability and see if it can be corrected by modern means."

It was a word I'd never truly expected to hear applied to me: disability. I could be disabled. It was something I didn't want to hear, but somehow, covering my ears to it wasn't an option. Then another thing she said struck me. "Modern means?"

"Yes, most likely hearing aids or surgery, but that's for the specialist to decide."

Within the month, I'd had all the tests known to mankind. The loss was progressive, the specialist said, and would continue to get worse over time. Barely noticeable at the moment, he said I could expect it to become worse, eventually requiring a hearing aid. It was little comfort that these things would occur slowly and wouldn't affect my presence in the field for the time being. But I had to start thinking about what I'd do once it did.

The United States Military doesn't allow its soldiers to be dependent on any gadgets of any kind in the field, just in case they should be lost or taken away. It came as hard as a physical blow.

The end of my career in the field was in sight, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I had a great deal of thinking to do.

Over the next few months, it progressed just as they said it would. The new the doctor kept it to herself as long as it didn't interfere with my work in the field, and soon, it became noticeable to me. Things people said sometimes got past me, or I just couldn't understand the words.

I'd always enjoyed the game of playing dumb. It was something I'd learned a very long time ago that by allowing people to underestimate my intelligence, by appearing stupid, I could use it to my advantage. Years ago, it became second nature to put up the front, and I never truly questioned why I did it around the members of the SGC. It was just habit.

But now, I could use it for another purpose. Perhaps I subconsciously had been for awhile now. I realized that, when I missed something Carter or Daniel said, they'd repeat it, and direct it specifically to me, if they thought I didn't comprehend. They never realized that it wasn't the meaning of their words that I wasn't understanding - it was the words themselves.

The end of my career was in sight, though - I couldn't keep up the act forever. There was a good side, I convinced myself. If I retired, Carter and I might have the chance we'd been wanting all these years. Or, at least, the chance I thought we'd been waiting for. I knew I had been.

I was making plans to hang it all up when Sam announced that she'd begun to see somebody. She seemed so happy, and I wondered if it meant that she'd let go of any thoughts of us being together. It hurt, but my first priority would always be her happiness, so I stayed and remained silent. After that, it seemed like it was one situation after another where I just felt that it wouldn't be right for me to leave the SGC hanging. Hell, maybe I was overestimating my own importance, but . . .

And then came the second Ancient archive. I believed it would kill me, but it needed to be done and, if I couldn't operate with the SGC anymore, I wanted to go out on a positive note. Retiring without somebody to go home to wasn't something to which I was looking forward. If I could save the planet, it would be worth it.

When I awoke from the deep freeze, I had another hearing check, just to be sure that the Ancients' device hadn't somehow healed me, but I knew it hadn't. As a matter of fact, it had gotten worse, and he fit me with hearing aids. Given my circumstances, I spent the extra money insurance wouldn't cover to get the small, nearly invisible ones so people seeing me wouldn't know they were even there unless they really looked. I know I could have tried to get the Air Force to pay for it all, but I really just didn't want to get into it.

When the opportunity to stay with the SGC as its leader presented itself a day or so later, I thought it was a Godsend. I never thought it would be such a hard job, but I hung in there, writing and then destroying more than one letter of resignation.

Which brings me back to where I am right now, the realization that I am not happy in my new position. I also don't think that I'm all that much help around here anymore. Diplomacy has never been my strong suit, and I can no longer do what I do best: fight. SG1 is in good hands, the place hums along. Cripes, Davis can run the place without me - anybody could.

I've just finished typing my resignation again, and this time, I know that General Hammond won't be disappointed in me. He'll realize that it's beyond my control that my hearing's going, and that I want to enjoy what's left of it while I can.

I know I owe it to Daniel, Teal'c, and Carter to tell them before riding off into the sunset. They're waiting in the boardroom and it's time I screw up my courage, stop putting it off, and break the news.

As I emerge from my office, I can see right away that they're probably thinking this is a new assignment. They just have a different look about them when they're getting ready to begin a new mission - a "we can take on the universe" type of air about them that I remember having myself.

I stand at the head of the table, wondering if sitting might be better. Since when do I second guess everything I do?

"Good afternoon, kids," I say, putting my hands in my pockets.

"What's going on, Jack?" Daniel asks.

I clear my throat and look at all their faces. God, I'm gonna miss them.

"There are going to be some changes around the SGC, and I thought you should know about them before they happen."

Their expressions change to ones of confusion, as Carter asks, "What kind of changes, Sir?"

"I've been in command here," I begin, "for a few months now. But I thought it was only fair that I tell you first that I'm tendering my resignation."

All three of them are on their feet instantly, all speaking at once. I understand none of it, and it's not just because of my hearing. I raise my hands to silence them.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! One at a time, people."

"Sir, why?" Two words from Carter's mouth, but it was all it took. No way was I going to be able to get out of here without giving them the whole truth.

"I always knew that the day would come when this old body wouldn't pass the military's requirements anymore. It was just a matter of time. Well," I smile insincerely, "that time is here."

"Your physical condition is still adequate to what the Air Force requires of you, O'Neill. I see no reason for you to be required to give up your position here." Teal'c, as always, was strong and supportive.

"He's right, Jack. It's not like you're out there running around the galaxy anymore. You're at least as fit as General Hammond was - maybe more so," Daniel said, and he was right, but he didn't have all the facts.

"No, Daniel, I'm not. Hammond had two fully functional eardrums."

The room was dead silent, and it had nothing to do with my being able to hear it. Faces were stunned.

"But . . ."

"No buts about it, I'm afraid," I interrupt.

"Isn't there something that can be done?" Carter asks.

"The doctors say no. Too many years of gunfire and blowin' stuff up is the problem, but I wouldn't change a minute of my time here. I don't regret it, but I want to hear all I can before it goes for good."

"Where will you go, O'Neill?" They knew me better than to think I could ever just sit around at home.

"The cabin for awhile, and then . . ." I realize I'm not sure what comes next. "Well, after that, I'm not sure. Not much traveling to be done when you've been across the galaxy and back," I smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

"You could come back here," Daniel suggests. "I'm sure they could find something . . ."

"What, and spend eight hours a day trying to figure out what's going on around me? I don't think so." I try to laugh, but we all know I don't have it in me.

My eyes meet each of theirs, holding on Carter's for a microsecond longer than the others; I hope she doesn't notice. There is one good thing about losing my hearing . . .

At least I won't have to hear her say "I do."

The End


End file.
